Idk if you've answered this somewhere else, but what's your thesis on?
Actually I have NOT answered that, and I am VERY EXCITED about this thesis, please pity my roommate.
A few things you need to know to explain this whole thing:
my college requires every student, regardless of major, to do some kind of thesis project to graduate;
my college started as a liberal arts school/social experiment, and would probably let you summon Satan for your senior thesis as long as you could justify it (”Oh, sure, professor, I understand that you’re concerned about that intricate circle of blood on the floor of the art studio, but I have here the proof that this is part of my combined thesis on the history of religious ritual and Ancient Greek, are we good here?”);
my college generally expects that their science majors (like myself, pre-med track) do an experimental thesis, but my explicit criterion for majoring in the pre-med track was that I not have to do a goddamn year-long experiment;
I am a history nerd, specifically military history and obscure details that no one else cares about; and
I have basically constructed an entire thesis around my desire to
talk about medicine
talk about history
title it with a Princess Bride quote
So I’m doing my thesis on the history of battlefield medicine (probably going to have to cut that down, preferably in such a way that I still get to talk about the Revolutionary War, which is my pet obsession) and I’m going to title it “Only Mostly Dead” because I’m an irreverent little shit.
My thesis adviser already gets a little long-suffering with me and I’ve only turned in the preliminary proposal.
in your avatar au, I have a mighty need for someone (joly/bossuet) to go crazy with the "bending" puns, like "oh grantaire went on a bender again," "don't get all bent out of shape," "I'm bending over backwards here," "this is just mind-bending," etc
OH FRIEND, I HAVE PLANS. Specifically those plans involve Grantaire’s current lack of air-bending expertise and Bahorel and Joly/Bousset playing peanut gallery. I got you. If people want to submit bending puns go for it, although I can’t promise that all of them will get used.
I like to think that Rita Skeeter totally lost whatever renown she had after the war and so Harry and Ginny and the others like to pick up her stories for fun without worrying about the effect it’ll have on their image? Like Harry just idly turns a page every morning and goes, “Oh, we’re getting a divorce.”
And Ginny yawns as she fetches two coffee mugs and says, “Is it because I’m snogging Neville?”
“No,” says Harry, “it’s because I’m snogging Neville.”
And Ginny slams down her mug and says, “Goddamnit, Harry, let me have my affair in peace, would you?”
They have this sort of conversation in public, sometimes. Especially in places (the Leaky Cauldron, the Three Broomsticks, etc) where they know that it’ll get back to Skeeter.
it absolutely blows my mind when i think of how much star trek is just straight up bad…..like three entire movies are irredeemably Bad ™, 5-10% of the episodes are Bad, so many tie-in novels are Bad, and yet i love it with my entire body and soul and would die for it
I want to be offended, but you’re not even wrong. And I would still die for the Federation in a heartbeat.
my mom asked why i don’t read as many books as i used to and i just said it was because i read a lot of unpublished stories from independent writers online and she thinks that’s very good of me to give undiscovered authors a chance
Star Wars/Star Trek? pls imagine Han and Jim having the weirdest friendly rivalry ever bc Han maintains the Millennium Falcon is the Best Ship and Jim maintains the Enterprise should have that honor.
I
just got out of Beyond last night and I am DRUNK on the Star Trek thing right
now. LET’S GO. I did a little more with the crews than the ships but like. Yeah.
The thing about
exploring space is that it’s big, but
not infinite. So sooner or later the final frontier pushes
right up to the raggedy edge of a galaxy far far away. Specifically, a ramshackle ship at the outermost
edge of Republic space. (They’re on a
sort of ‘remember the good old days when the three of us plus Chewie and a
couple droids were on the fucking run’ sort of trip. Han doesn’t know why he’s doing this but
sure, Leia, for old time’s sake, something like that, and Luke just looked at
him and blinked and somehow the farmboy eyes still work on him after all this
time.) The Enterprise sees it on its radar and…well, to be completely honest,
Spock takes one look at the readings and announces that there appears to be a
ship in distress. They go investigate—the
Enterprise makes the Falcon look like a slightly haphazard
guppy beside a sleek and shining whale, a sheer wall of matte white kissed with
space dust. (Inside the Falcon, everyone has a completely
independent moment of holyfuckingkriff we’re
going to war again before the polite text hail comes through and the ship
translates the message.)
Okay so…it turns out
that Republic Standard and Federation Basic have basically nothing to do with
each other, and the universal translators aren’t in the mood to translate an
entirely foreign language. The crew of
the Falcon and the Enterprise away team spend a good long while
cycling through every language they know (and with Uhura with them, that number
is prodigious) before they figure out
that there seems to be at least a degree of commonality between Bocce and Ferengi,
and between an archaic Vulcan dialect that even Spock barely knows and an
equally dated Naboo dialect that Leia knows a few scraps of and C-3PO knows a
few more scraps of (Padmé believed in knowing her planet’s history). They cobble together a pidgin that at least
lets them introduce themselves while half the engineering team scrambles to
clap together a translator. (It takes
two hours and Scotty is bursting with
pride over the thing, which turns Basic into Standard and back again with no trouble
at all.)
First contact with a
foreign Republic: pretty much par for the course for the Enterprise, and hey, they have a Senator of said Republic right there, so for Kirk and his crew
this is going great. They have a war
hero, a general in the military, and a political figure on hand, in addition to
a droid loaded with a massive amount of history and a soldier. The Falcon’s
crew is pretty much exactly the diplomatic cadre most planets send out to meet
the Federation, so it doesn’t even occur to them that they’ve pretty much caught
the Falcon with their pants down. The Falcon
isn’t a diplomatic vessel on the best of days, and even if it was, the Republic
hasn’t made a business of making first contact with anyone in quite a long time.
So when a clutch of various aliens—including humans, who aren’t so alien after all, and ain’t that a kick in the
head, as Han says—in brightly colored uniforms introduces themselves as members
of Star Fleet, representatives of something called the United Federation of
Planets…that’s new. Leia pushes Han out
of the way with an elbow, and shuts Luke up with a glance, and does her best to
look Senatorly and In Control.
By the end of a few
hours’ meeting, there’s a tentative alliance drawn up and a friendship in place
between Leia and Jim, who, Bones and Han agree, have bonded over being reckless
idealists too stubbornly brave for their own health. Spock interrogates Luke at length about the
Force—fascinating, he pronounces at
once—and is disappointed to find out that the Jedi have largely been wiped out
will all their information. (Luke, on
the other hand, is a little dazed from the rapid-fire queries and thinks that,
if all Vulcans are so emotionless, it’s probably for the best that the Jedi
never met them, because can you imagine
if that was the Jedi standard for emotional control. Also, Luke is smarter than your average
bantha, thanks, and knows a telepath when he sees one, so he makes a mental
note to look into testing the Vulcans for Force-sensitivity, if he can figure
out how the hell to do it.) Uhura corners
3PO and commands him to start teaching her Republic Standard. She makes terrifying
progress, and also learns enough Shyriiwook to understand Chewbacca’s careful
and kind farewell (C-3PO is in love, he’s
never met someone so brilliant in his entire existence, he almost follows her
home like a lost puppy).
Regarding the ships: Jim
is very polite about the Falcon
because there’s just no point in being rude about other people’s ships when yours
is so evidently the best in the
universe—honestly, if Han tried to insult his ship, Jim’s response would be a
blank expression and “Are you blind? We
can have Bones look at that.” Han
grumbles a bit, but he’s not an idiot, and the Falcon is a damn good ship, he mutters, even if she’s not
flashy. (It should be noted that, here, ‘not
flashy’ means ‘occasionally unwilling to hit hyperspeed without some serious
antics,’ which is kind of the equivalent of saying, about a car, that ‘not
flashy’ means ‘hope you don’t want a second gear that works all the time.’) So the two captains get along pretty well,
because if there’s anyone that Han Don’t-Tell-Me-The-Odds Solo is going to
click with, it’s Jim Rules-What-Rules Kirk.
Scotty, on the other hand, is
apoplectic the first time he hears Han compare the Falcon to the Enterprise. That bucket of bolts! Falling apart at the seams! Compared to his lady! The Falcon
is unworthy to pass through her ion wake!
Chekov sees the Chief of Engineering puff up and Jim shoots him a look,
and Chekov claps a hand over Scotty’s mouth, towing him out of the room with
Sulu. Han’s back is turned and the nod
Luke gives, to say nothing of the hidden smirk, suggests that he won’t be
telling, so Jim has avoided, once more, starting a diplomatic incident because
of Scotty’s determination to defend the Enterprise’s
honor. This is a fairly regular occurrence,
and a large part of the reason that Scotty is on probation from diplomatic
missions.
Bonus sixth headcanon: Jim is the most fucking Force-sensitive. They find this out because Luke, still
half-trained and a bit prone to error, brushes a brief mental probe across his
mind and gets thrown out with all the violence of hitting warp three from a
dead halt. Luke asks where his mental
shields came from and Jim gives him a blank look and Luke has a moment of horrible
revelation: he’s not only going to have to scrounge up some teaching ability,
he’s going to have to comb an entire
Federation for Force-sensitives.
When the nav officer—Chekov—sees the look of appalled shock on his face
and politely offers brandy, with the additional remark that the Captain can have that effect, Luke takes him up on it.
Reblog if you would be comfortable living in a dormitory with an openly transgender or intersex individual. We’re working on a campaign for gender neutral housing and we could use your support.
Honestly I think my fav part of Beyond was at the end when do the “Space the final frontier.” Montage and THE WHOLE CREW JOINS IN AND OVERLAPS with each other AND UHURA FINISHES IT with “Where no ONE has gone before.” And then my soul ascended into heaven.
Part of me is like “Jean Valjean is the main character of Les Miserables and that’s very important and maybe the miniseries will remind people of that” and part of me is like “listen. I literally only care about Les Amis and would watch six hours just of Enjolras and Grantaire sitting in the same room doing nothing” so I’m a little conflicted
Nothing is going to change. Americans love their guns more than they love people and after Sandy Hook we decided that killing over 20 children was acceptable and not outrageous enough to make reasonable restrictions on guns. This is America, a country that has been around for 200 years, a superpower, a 1st world nation, and one of the wealthiest countries on the planet and we refuse to protect our own people. We respect guns more than we respect the lives of people.
What specific gun control measures would you propose and how would they directly and effectively make society safer?
Absolutely get rid of all AR-15′s and the like.
Intense background and criminal background checks and anything violent automatically disqualifies you.
Make getting a gun/gun permit more like getting a driver’s license:
permit to learn
includes an exam with 18 or more questions on the policies, laws, and etc of guns and gun ownership
if you get more than 8 questions incorrect you must retake it.
30 hours of practical experience at a gun range with a licensed teacher
Must take a 5 hour class on the dangers of guns and how to use them safely which will then yield you a certificate that grants you to take the practical exam and lasts for one year. If you don’t gain the license within the allotted year you must retake the class.
A practical exam with a licensed instructor who will grade you on various skills. If you pass you may be granted a permit on the weapon of your choice, the exams may differ on the type of firearm you want.
Follow the Japanese model where you must have two gun safes in different areas of the house, one to store the gun and one to store the bullets and you must provide the police with information on where those safes are.
No concealed carry and only handguns may be allowed to be out in public.
If transporting a weapon, it must be in the trunk of the vehicle, in a bag or some other case, safety on and unloaded and may not leave the vehicle until you are at the destination.
If you’re a hunter or some other gun hobbyist that requires a functional weapon other than a handgun then the gun must stay on the premises, whether that is a gun range or the Fish and Wildlife facility.
If you live in a rural area where police (and people, for that matter) are few and far between, something akin to a deer hunting rifle should provide plenty of protection from predators and poachers, you still have to follow the aforementioned steps.
This doesn’t cover everything but I think it’s a good place to start.
Can you show me evidence that this would directly and effectively create a safer society?
I have never laughed so hard at a gun law post. Like seriously, the evidence is in fucking reality. The proposed restrictions are just fucking logic.
Headcanons for your Claire Temple Ao3 fic? Maybe five random run ins Claire has with superheroes while not on the clock saving their lives. Also, since I know you are a bastard, preferably /funny/ or happy run ins. Try to rein in the pain, agony inc.
Oh God, that’s right, that fic exists. For those of you who are new to the party,
it’s this, and I haven’t updated it in literal months, for which I am formally
sorry. In unrelated news, yes I am a
bastard, and Agony Inc. is my new favorite thing, I will be tagging all
upsetting writing as such.
There’s actually
tentative plans for this to be a sister-fic, but since it’ll obviously take me
a millennium to write that, here: Superhero Adjunct Drinking Night, facilitated
by Natasha Romanoff (who won’t hear argument that she’s a superhero, and therefore part of the problem) and enabled by Pepper Potts’ gold card. It starts after Natasha comes and gets Claire
to help her fish Clint out of a dumpster, and when Natasha turns up not a week
later Claire’s first response is to grab her first aid kit. Instead, Natasha waves her down, hands her a
jacket, and steers her out of the apartment and drives to a bar—it feels more
like a kidnapping than getting drinks with friends, but Natasha generously pays
for drinks all night, and Claire could stand a few more kidnappings like
this. This proceeds to happen about once
a week for two months, at which point Claire gets a call from an unknown number
on her personal cell, and a polite voice asks, “Would you mind if I accompanied
Natasha to your girls’ night tonight?”
Pepper proves to be a riotously funny drunk, with enough stories about
her time as Tony’s PA to keep them laughing too. The next time Claire treats Jessica for acute
failure to demonstrate the common sense God gave a squirrel (technical terms)
and sees Malcolm silently working up a stress ulcer, she invites him out with
them—he gets juice rather than liquor, but he’s witty and wry and only a little
starstruck, all in all a good addition. Karen
is the next addition, after she spends a full hour shouting at Matt while
Claire stitches him up, and it’s lucky that she doesn’t bring Foggy that first
week, because there’s a deeply
awkward moment where she and Natasha eye each other like feral wolves and greet
each other by strange names. “Vasilisa,”
Natasha says, “I thought you were dead.” Karen bares her teeth politely and replies, “Natalia, I thought you were
a better spy.” Pepper looks up at the ceiling
like she’s praying for strength and orders an entire bottle of vodka, setting
it between the two other redheads like an olive branch. All is calm, after that, although the two are
eerily alike, dark gallows humor flecking their speech. Foggy comes, the next week, then a woman
named Candace who drops into a chair like she belongs there and introduces herself
as ‘an ex of an X-Man’ and snickers at their faces, then a dark-haired
twenty-something in glasses who complains about Asgardians, then a cranky blind
woman who refuses to talk about her roommate….
It snowballs pretty bad, is the point, and it gets to the point where
Pepper is comfortably dropping a grand on drinks. Claire likes it, though, it’s the most normal
thing she’s handled lately.
Also: she’s not
sure how anyone finds out about Superhero Adjunct Drinking Night, but
apparently it’s sovereign, because
through mysterious happenings there’s never once an attack or other disaster on
the night in question, even though they’re a perfect target for any
enterprising villain in the mood for hostages.
“Mysteries of the life,” Claire says dryly. “Another round of tequila, I think.”
Claire definitely sees Steve Rogers in her
preferred grocery store. Actually, she
sees him in her preferred grocery store a
lot, so much that she corners him and interrogates him about who made him
follow her. He looks pretty alarmed—for a
six-foot-plus brick house, he does ‘alarmed’ remarkably well—and sheepishly
admits that if he gets groceries anywhere closer to the city center and the
Tower, he gets accosted. Hell’s Kitchen
is a little out of his way, but apparently it’s worth it for a few minutes of peace. Claire huffs, grabs the cheap box of cereal
he’d tossed into his basket, and informs him that if he’s shopping on seventy
years of back pay he can afford to get the name brand stuff that doesn’t taste
like paper. They see each other about every
other week, and Claire works really hard not to laugh at his offended tirade
about bananas.
Claire’s pretty much
over the shock of having someone knock on her bedroom window, which is
inaccessible by human means and on the fourth floor besides, but she’s used to
having it happen at night, not three in the afternoon. But she opens it, lets the person—people—through
and starts working up to a lecture about how she gives them a phone number for
a reason before she realizes that it’s just Peter, sitting on her floor, apparently
uninjured and dressed in civvies and dripping dismally onto the carpet from the
downpour. “You could’ve been seen,” she
says automatically, and he slants a look up at her through the floppy locks of
wet hair falling into his face—it’s pouring, and has been for hours, so it’s
unlikely anyone was exactly paying enough attention to see a kid crawl down a
building. “Mind if I hang out here for a
couple hours?” he asks, and when she doesn’t answer immediately he flicks his
hair out of his face, looking uncomfortable, and adds, “Um, it’s the
anniversary of my uncle’s death and my aunt’s not home and I…didn’t really want
to stay there alone.” Claire sighs and
throws a towel at his face, and walks out into her kitchen, calling back to
grab some dry clothes out of her closet before he gets her couch wet. She’s no great shakes in the kitchen, but she
can make tea, so she does, the chamomile blend Abuela gives her in vast
quantities as a remedy for stress. Peter
sits on her couch in sweats that are about four sizes too big—most of her spare
clothes are for people who aren’t nineteen—and
drinks the tea in silence and watches a Harry Potter marathon on TV while
Claire lays out her first aid kit and sorts through it on the floor. When she joins him on the couch, he leans his
head onto her shoulder and falls asleep, face twisted into a frown and his hair
drying into cowlicks. She sighs, the
deep, from-the-soles-of-her-feet, why-does-this-happen-to-me sigh she perfected
after the second time Matt called her, and shifts them so that Peter’s head is
in her lap and her hand is in his hair.
It eases the frown, so maybe it’s okay that this specific thing is
happening to her.
This is how Claire
Temple meets Frank Castle, AKA the Punisher, AKA a dead guy: she gets a
date. She goes on the date. She brings the date back to her place. She finds a tall and menacing guy standing
outside the door of her apartment building, dressed in a long coat and a
shoulder holster and a black eye under his military buzz cut. He stops her date with a look like steel and
offers Claire a file without a word, and she takes it, because that’s what her
life is turning into these days. The
file is either a threat (unlikely, because Buzz Cut Man is armed and hasn’t
directly threatened her yet) or something that someone thinks will help her
(more likely, because Buzz Cut Man is glaring at her date like he’s pissed him
off personally rather than standing there and looking pale and scared), so she
opens it because either way, it is what it is.
It turns out that the file is a terrifyingly
complete background check on her date, all the way back to grade school and
annotated by three people, and includes his marriage certificate, with a
post-it note in Karen’s tidy handwriting that says ‘no divorce in the works.’ Claire sighs—the guy seemed like a pretty bad
lay anyway, too narcissistic—and closes the file. “You,” she tells her date, “go home to your
wife and ask for a fucking divorce if you’re going to sleep around anyway. You,” she tells Buzz Cut Man, “can come
inside and I’ll give you some ice to put on that eye. And tell Karen and Natasha that I can vet my
own dates.” He mutters something, and stands
to attention when she arches an eyebrow at him.
“You can tell them,” he
repeats, and she snorts.
And a sneak peek of
the next chapter, if I ever have time to write the damn thing: Claire has a lot
of friends in the medical field, and even though she hasn’t spoken much to this
particular friend since undergrad, the Organic Chemistry bond is real, so when
her friend calls, Claire answers. Her
friend helps run a women’s health clinic that offers abortions and has been
facing increasingly aggressive harassment, not to mention their financial
problems, and she’s been calling around looking for anyone, anyone at all, who’s
willing to help protect the women trying to get into the clinic. Claire’s response is “Well, I’ll see what I
can do, and I’ll come up on my next day off.”
And then she calls Jessica, because Jessica knows everyone, and
explains, and Jessica’s whole response is “Leave it to me.” So when Claire goes up to help out on her
next day off, she’s more than a little surprised to find Captain America, Luke
Cage, and Colossus all standing in front of the doors and looking solemn. Not nearly as surprised as her old friend,
though, who’s talking to Natasha and Kitty and a blonde woman—is that Trish Walker, Claire wonders, making a
mental note to invite her to the Drinking Nights—and looks about a second from
fainting.
“Claire, who the
fuck are these people?” her friend hisses when the protesters start turning up
and Steve, Forties charm in full swing, offers his arm to the first girl he
sees, shooting a venomous look over her head at the closest sign-bearing man.
“Uh,” Claire
says blankly as she catches a familiar pair of figures on a nearby roof—one horned,
one sleek and bright red and blue. “My…friends?”
Is there fic out there in the Leverage fandom where Sterling has to work with the FBI and he’s going not-so-quietly insane because everyone in the FBI is utterly convinced that Parker & Hardison are actual bone fide agents? Like, they pity Sterling because they’re just so damn good that they’ve managed to sell him on their covers as con artists? They’re such good agents that they’ve managed to fool Interpol?
Have I expressed my love for Black Widow!Karen Page? Because I am still super fucking committed to that, I wrote a fic series for it like a year ago and I am STILL super fucking committed to that. I am married to that headcanon, like, fucking devoted, in case anyone was curious.
Your Enjoltaire "superpower compliments soulmate" headcannon has given me liFE AND I AM FOREVER IN DEBT TO U. Jesus Christ, ur amazing.
Oh my God thank you so much, I’m glad you liked it! Honestly I think I’m still in shock from how popular that thing got, I keep expecting to wake up. But, if you are interested, there’s more ExR fic here, and more of my writing generally here, and I’m always taking requests for headcanons/ficlets/other stuff!
alright folks, so for the first time in my life, something actually happened to me that would make a good au fanfic prompt, so here it is.
so basically a few months ago my roommates and i were talking about why boys draw dicks all over things. this discussion eventually deteriorated to the point where we were in hysterics laughing about dicks just popping up wherever you least expected them, and so the idea for Hide The Dick was born.
HTD is essentially one of the greatest games ever
conceived, or at least it seems that way to us. the rules are simple: someone hides the dick (a cartoon, laminated creation of my virgin roommate who drew from imagination, in case you were wondering) and the others look for it. if you find it, you announce where you’ve found it and then it’s your turn to hide it. we keep a tally of points on the whiteboard in the kitchen.
as you might imagine, it has been substantially easier just to hide this game from visitors, rather than explain it, so no one knows we’ve been doing this.
well today for some reason the freaking smoke detectors in our building start going off like crazy in all of the apartments. two of my roommates and i had already been waiting around for a plumber anyway, so we called the landlord and she said she’d send someone down.
and send someone she did.
shortly after the smoke alarms commenced their hellish symphony, we hear a knock at the door, so my friend gets up to open it, and in walks what is possibly THE MOST BEAUTIFUL MAN ANY OF US HAD EVER SEEN. like, i shit you not, after he left the room one of my roommates looked me dead in the eye and said “i’d be in for a foursome with that, if you guys are down”, like that is how attractive this man was.
so at this point he’s fixing our smoke alarm and he’s pretty and we’re being a bunch of heart-eyed children, but in fairness we were also almost certain he moonlights as a firefighter when he isn’t working for the smoke detector people, and firefighters can turn even the most reasonable people into goo. after a bit he tells us he thinks he knows what the problem is and he’s just going to replace all the smoke detectors. so he leaves for the hardware store down the road and he says he’ll only be gone for a few minutes.
we, of course, being rational twenty-somethings, used this time to gush about how attractive he was. but anyway, he comes back and swaps out the smoke detectors and suddenly makes his way into the kitchen and he just goes: “you know what, while i’m here, i should actually check the date on your fire extinguisher…” and about halfway through this sentence a few things start to happen simultaneously.
ash, one of my roommates, her eyes just fly open in abject horror. (this is the girl who drew the dick in the first place) and all she manages to get out is “i just want you to know we play this game and w-”
and kelsey (magic-not-realism), my other roommate, turns on her with this horrified expression, mixed with like utter defeat and she doesn’t have to say a word but we all know her brain is just going “you fucking didn’t!!!!”
so i turn around just in time to see this random, innocent firefighter hold up the fire extinguisher with the dick taped to the back.
that’s it, that’s the prompt. (i mean more happened, but it feels more fun to leave it unspecific). if you ever turn this into something (particularly of the destiel variety) please send it to me!
hey again internet peeps! so, believe it or not, i actually got a handful of anons about this and, back by popular demand, is my HTD story.
ok so, we’re standing there with this hot firefighter and all of us are pretty much just staring at him in shock at this point. this was truly a cosmic joke of epic proportions.
what you have to understand is that that dick had only been on the fire extinguisher for like, maybbbbbeee 12 hours because ash had just hid it there before we went to bed, so no one fucking expected this, least of all shawn the firefighter.
for a moment he just kind of stared at it, literally unable to process what he held in his hand. i’m not sure how many of you actually referred to the visual aid in the original post, but for those who didn’t, this dick is as anatomically correct as you could possibly expect from a virgin. like, ash and i laid on the couch the day she drew it and i forced her to draw and shade veins and pubes, so like, clearly an effort was made. there was no coming back from that kind of detail.
this was a dick with a purpose.
so shawn finally regains his wits and he untapes the dick and stares at it some more and then he lifts it up towards us and points with the most confused expression on his face, and just goes in the most disbelieving tone: “A penis….??? On MY fire extinguisher?!”
and so again, all of us are flying into action at the same time. ash is alternating between this high keening noise of embarrassment and fighting off giggles in between breathless “i’m sorry’s”. kelsey is laughing nervously and kind of trying to explain the game a little bit and as for me, well, i’d completely lost my shit at that point.
i was practically in tears just from the shock on his face and so finally i’m like “you win! oh my god, you win!” and i got up from the couch and went into the kitchen and drew him a space on the scoreboard and gave him a point. now, my back is turned at this point but kelsey and ash are just laughing now and every few seconds you hear shawn’s disbelieving voice go “a penis?”
anyway, i should probably be wrapping this up so i’m just going to do the cliff-notes of the rest of this visit
shawn complimented the dick before he left
he confirmed that this was not the weirdest thing he’s ever stumbled across accidentally
i asked him to hide the dick again, since that’s how we play and he said “i can’t be hiding penises in your rooms i’ll probably get in trouble for that” (ftr i didn’t say rooms, we always hide it in common areas jeez shawn get your mind out of the gutter)
we apologized about a couple hundred times
he went to our neighbors to install smoke detectors and it occured to us that he might tell them about the game
we drafted a plan to move if that happens
he came back and we explained the origin story of the dick and asked him why boys draw penises on things and he reported that he’d never had that particular urge
he left us his business card on his way out the door and then we laid on the couch and laughed about this until we cried
Star Wars/Star Trek? pls imagine Han and Jim having the weirdest friendly rivalry ever bc Han maintains the Millennium Falcon is the Best Ship and Jim maintains the Enterprise should have that honor.
I
just got out of Beyond last night and I am DRUNK on the Star Trek thing right
now. LET’S GO. I did a little more with the crews than the ships but like. Yeah.
The thing about
exploring space is that it’s big, but
not infinite. So sooner or later the final frontier pushes
right up to the raggedy edge of a galaxy far far away. Specifically, a ramshackle ship at the outermost
edge of Republic space. (They’re on a
sort of ‘remember the good old days when the three of us plus Chewie and a
couple droids were on the fucking run’ sort of trip. Han doesn’t know why he’s doing this but
sure, Leia, for old time’s sake, something like that, and Luke just looked at
him and blinked and somehow the farmboy eyes still work on him after all this
time.) The Enterprise sees it on its radar and…well, to be completely honest,
Spock takes one look at the readings and announces that there appears to be a
ship in distress. They go investigate—the
Enterprise makes the Falcon look like a slightly haphazard
guppy beside a sleek and shining whale, a sheer wall of matte white kissed with
space dust. (Inside the Falcon, everyone has a completely
independent moment of holyfuckingkriff we’re
going to war again before the polite text hail comes through and the ship
translates the message.)
Okay so…it turns out
that Republic Standard and Federation Basic have basically nothing to do with
each other, and the universal translators aren’t in the mood to translate an
entirely foreign language. The crew of
the Falcon and the Enterprise away team spend a good long while
cycling through every language they know (and with Uhura with them, that number
is prodigious) before they figure out
that there seems to be at least a degree of commonality between Bocce and Ferengi,
and between an archaic Vulcan dialect that even Spock barely knows and an
equally dated Naboo dialect that Leia knows a few scraps of and C-3PO knows a
few more scraps of (Padmé believed in knowing her planet’s history). They cobble together a pidgin that at least
lets them introduce themselves while half the engineering team scrambles to
clap together a translator. (It takes
two hours and Scotty is bursting with
pride over the thing, which turns Basic into Standard and back again with no trouble
at all.)
First contact with a
foreign Republic: pretty much par for the course for the Enterprise, and hey, they have a Senator of said Republic right there, so for Kirk and his crew
this is going great. They have a war
hero, a general in the military, and a political figure on hand, in addition to
a droid loaded with a massive amount of history and a soldier. The Falcon’s
crew is pretty much exactly the diplomatic cadre most planets send out to meet
the Federation, so it doesn’t even occur to them that they’ve pretty much caught
the Falcon with their pants down. The Falcon
isn’t a diplomatic vessel on the best of days, and even if it was, the Republic
hasn’t made a business of making first contact with anyone in quite a long time.
So when a clutch of various aliens—including humans, who aren’t so alien after all, and ain’t that a kick in the
head, as Han says—in brightly colored uniforms introduces themselves as members
of Star Fleet, representatives of something called the United Federation of
Planets…that’s new. Leia pushes Han out
of the way with an elbow, and shuts Luke up with a glance, and does her best to
look Senatorly and In Control.
By the end of a few
hours’ meeting, there’s a tentative alliance drawn up and a friendship in place
between Leia and Jim, who, Bones and Han agree, have bonded over being reckless
idealists too stubbornly brave for their own health. Spock interrogates Luke at length about the
Force—fascinating, he pronounces at
once—and is disappointed to find out that the Jedi have largely been wiped out
will all their information. (Luke, on
the other hand, is a little dazed from the rapid-fire queries and thinks that,
if all Vulcans are so emotionless, it’s probably for the best that the Jedi
never met them, because can you imagine
if that was the Jedi standard for emotional control. Also, Luke is smarter than your average
bantha, thanks, and knows a telepath when he sees one, so he makes a mental
note to look into testing the Vulcans for Force-sensitivity, if he can figure
out how the hell to do it.) Uhura corners
3PO and commands him to start teaching her Republic Standard. She makes terrifying
progress, and also learns enough Shyriiwook to understand Chewbacca’s careful
and kind farewell (C-3PO is in love, he’s
never met someone so brilliant in his entire existence, he almost follows her
home like a lost puppy).
Regarding the ships: Jim
is very polite about the Falcon
because there’s just no point in being rude about other people’s ships when yours
is so evidently the best in the
universe—honestly, if Han tried to insult his ship, Jim’s response would be a
blank expression and “Are you blind? We
can have Bones look at that.” Han
grumbles a bit, but he’s not an idiot, and the Falcon is a damn good ship, he mutters, even if she’s not
flashy. (It should be noted that, here, ‘not
flashy’ means ‘occasionally unwilling to hit hyperspeed without some serious
antics,’ which is kind of the equivalent of saying, about a car, that ‘not
flashy’ means ‘hope you don’t want a second gear that works all the time.’) So the two captains get along pretty well,
because if there’s anyone that Han Don’t-Tell-Me-The-Odds Solo is going to
click with, it’s Jim Rules-What-Rules Kirk.
Scotty, on the other hand, is
apoplectic the first time he hears Han compare the Falcon to the Enterprise. That bucket of bolts! Falling apart at the seams! Compared to his lady! The Falcon
is unworthy to pass through her ion wake!
Chekov sees the Chief of Engineering puff up and Jim shoots him a look,
and Chekov claps a hand over Scotty’s mouth, towing him out of the room with
Sulu. Han’s back is turned and the nod
Luke gives, to say nothing of the hidden smirk, suggests that he won’t be
telling, so Jim has avoided, once more, starting a diplomatic incident because
of Scotty’s determination to defend the Enterprise’s
honor. This is a fairly regular occurrence,
and a large part of the reason that Scotty is on probation from diplomatic
missions.
Bonus sixth headcanon: Jim is the most fucking Force-sensitive. They find this out because Luke, still
half-trained and a bit prone to error, brushes a brief mental probe across his
mind and gets thrown out with all the violence of hitting warp three from a
dead halt. Luke asks where his mental
shields came from and Jim gives him a blank look and Luke has a moment of horrible
revelation: he’s not only going to have to scrounge up some teaching ability,
he’s going to have to comb an entire
Federation for Force-sensitives.
When the nav officer—Chekov—sees the look of appalled shock on his face
and politely offers brandy, with the additional remark that the Captain can have that effect, Luke takes him up on it.
Star Wars/Star Trek? pls imagine Han and Jim having the weirdest friendly rivalry ever bc Han maintains the Millennium Falcon is the Best Ship and Jim maintains the Enterprise should have that honor.
I
just got out of Beyond last night and I am DRUNK on the Star Trek thing right
now. LET’S GO. I did a little more with the crews than the ships but like. Yeah.
The thing about
exploring space is that it’s big, but
not infinite. So sooner or later the final frontier pushes
right up to the raggedy edge of a galaxy far far away. Specifically, a ramshackle ship at the outermost
edge of Republic space. (They’re on a
sort of ‘remember the good old days when the three of us plus Chewie and a
couple droids were on the fucking run’ sort of trip. Han doesn’t know why he’s doing this but
sure, Leia, for old time’s sake, something like that, and Luke just looked at
him and blinked and somehow the farmboy eyes still work on him after all this
time.) The Enterprise sees it on its radar and…well, to be completely honest,
Spock takes one look at the readings and announces that there appears to be a
ship in distress. They go investigate—the
Enterprise makes the Falcon look like a slightly haphazard
guppy beside a sleek and shining whale, a sheer wall of matte white kissed with
space dust. (Inside the Falcon, everyone has a completely
independent moment of holyfuckingkriff we’re
going to war again before the polite text hail comes through and the ship
translates the message.)
Okay so…it turns out
that Republic Standard and Federation Basic have basically nothing to do with
each other, and the universal translators aren’t in the mood to translate an
entirely foreign language. The crew of
the Falcon and the Enterprise away team spend a good long while
cycling through every language they know (and with Uhura with them, that number
is prodigious) before they figure out
that there seems to be at least a degree of commonality between Bocce and Ferengi,
and between an archaic Vulcan dialect that even Spock barely knows and an
equally dated Naboo dialect that Leia knows a few scraps of and C-3PO knows a
few more scraps of (Padmé believed in knowing her planet’s history). They cobble together a pidgin that at least
lets them introduce themselves while half the engineering team scrambles to
clap together a translator. (It takes
two hours and Scotty is bursting with
pride over the thing, which turns Basic into Standard and back again with no trouble
at all.)
First contact with a
foreign Republic: pretty much par for the course for the Enterprise, and hey, they have a Senator of said Republic right there, so for Kirk and his crew
this is going great. They have a war
hero, a general in the military, and a political figure on hand, in addition to
a droid loaded with a massive amount of history and a soldier. The Falcon’s
crew is pretty much exactly the diplomatic cadre most planets send out to meet
the Federation, so it doesn’t even occur to them that they’ve pretty much caught
the Falcon with their pants down. The Falcon
isn’t a diplomatic vessel on the best of days, and even if it was, the Republic
hasn’t made a business of making first contact with anyone in quite a long time.
So when a clutch of various aliens—including humans, who aren’t so alien after all, and ain’t that a kick in the
head, as Han says—in brightly colored uniforms introduces themselves as members
of Star Fleet, representatives of something called the United Federation of
Planets…that’s new. Leia pushes Han out
of the way with an elbow, and shuts Luke up with a glance, and does her best to
look Senatorly and In Control.
By the end of a few
hours’ meeting, there’s a tentative alliance drawn up and a friendship in place
between Leia and Jim, who, Bones and Han agree, have bonded over being reckless
idealists too stubbornly brave for their own health. Spock interrogates Luke at length about the
Force—fascinating, he pronounces at
once—and is disappointed to find out that the Jedi have largely been wiped out
will all their information. (Luke, on
the other hand, is a little dazed from the rapid-fire queries and thinks that,
if all Vulcans are so emotionless, it’s probably for the best that the Jedi
never met them, because can you imagine
if that was the Jedi standard for emotional control. Also, Luke is smarter than your average
bantha, thanks, and knows a telepath when he sees one, so he makes a mental
note to look into testing the Vulcans for Force-sensitivity, if he can figure
out how the hell to do it.) Uhura corners
3PO and commands him to start teaching her Republic Standard. She makes terrifying
progress, and also learns enough Shyriiwook to understand Chewbacca’s careful
and kind farewell (C-3PO is in love, he’s
never met someone so brilliant in his entire existence, he almost follows her
home like a lost puppy).
Regarding the ships: Jim
is very polite about the Falcon
because there’s just no point in being rude about other people’s ships when yours
is so evidently the best in the
universe—honestly, if Han tried to insult his ship, Jim’s response would be a
blank expression and “Are you blind? We
can have Bones look at that.” Han
grumbles a bit, but he’s not an idiot, and the Falcon is a damn good ship, he mutters, even if she’s not
flashy. (It should be noted that, here, ‘not
flashy’ means ‘occasionally unwilling to hit hyperspeed without some serious
antics,’ which is kind of the equivalent of saying, about a car, that ‘not
flashy’ means ‘hope you don’t want a second gear that works all the time.’) So the two captains get along pretty well,
because if there’s anyone that Han Don’t-Tell-Me-The-Odds Solo is going to
click with, it’s Jim Rules-What-Rules Kirk.
Scotty, on the other hand, is
apoplectic the first time he hears Han compare the Falcon to the Enterprise. That bucket of bolts! Falling apart at the seams! Compared to his lady! The Falcon
is unworthy to pass through her ion wake!
Chekov sees the Chief of Engineering puff up and Jim shoots him a look,
and Chekov claps a hand over Scotty’s mouth, towing him out of the room with
Sulu. Han’s back is turned and the nod
Luke gives, to say nothing of the hidden smirk, suggests that he won’t be
telling, so Jim has avoided, once more, starting a diplomatic incident because
of Scotty’s determination to defend the Enterprise’s
honor. This is a fairly regular occurrence,
and a large part of the reason that Scotty is on probation from diplomatic
missions.
Bonus sixth headcanon: Jim is the most fucking Force-sensitive. They find this out because Luke, still
half-trained and a bit prone to error, brushes a brief mental probe across his
mind and gets thrown out with all the violence of hitting warp three from a
dead halt. Luke asks where his mental
shields came from and Jim gives him a blank look and Luke has a moment of horrible
revelation: he’s not only going to have to scrounge up some teaching ability,
he’s going to have to comb an entire
Federation for Force-sensitives.
When the nav officer—Chekov—sees the look of appalled shock on his face
and politely offers brandy, with the additional remark that the Captain can have that effect, Luke takes him up on it.
A 5 Headcanons request from @littlestartopaz. “Okay, let’s see…. New Star Trek world, where old Kirk came
through with old Spock.”
Oh
my God I love it, it would be a mess, we’re gonna do double headcanons for it,
I love these guys. We’re gonna need a
read-more on this sucker, and I swear to God that this is only ten headcanons, but it got so out of hand.
Through methods
unknown but probably involving the Nexus, ex-Admiral James T. Kirk got snatched
off the bridge of the Enterprise just
before the collapse that would have killed him, and between one blink and
another he’s on a sleek silver-and-white ship with an elderly Vulcan at the
controls, bursting out of…what, a black hole?
Maybe he’s dead after all, because what
the fuck.
“Who the hell
are you?” Kirk blurts before he can think it through, and the Vulcan spins
around like…well, like a human,
startled and alarmed.
“Jim?” the Vulcan demands after a long
pause, and that look of unsuccessfully repressed shock is familiar.
“Spock?” Kirk half-shouts. And then they’re being sucked into a giant tentacled
ship and it’s suddenly very hard to figure out what’s going on, what with the
swarms of Romulans and everything.
The fact that planned parenthood buildings literally have special rooms for the employees and patients to go to when a mass shooter comes into the building really does shed light on the hypocrisy of the ‘Pro life’ movement.
Let me tell everyone the story of the one and only time I went to a planned parenthood clinic. There’s really only a few things a man goes into a PP by himself to do. I was there for an STI screening, better safe than sorry right? But from the moment I walked in things seemed weird to me. I’m terrible at picking up on social clues but everyone seemed tense. The woman at the front desk, the woman waiting for her apointment, the nurse who led me into the back for blood samples. Everyone seemed on edge. At first I thought it was me being paranoid, that no, nobody was judging me for getting tested, it was just my mind playing tricks on me.
I followed the nurse into the back. She told me to wait outside a small supply nook while she got what she needed, so I stood there, feeling tense. Then she dropped her clipboard and I, being stupid and dense but ultimately inclined to try and be helpful, stepped forward into the nook to pick it up for her.
She froze, and told me in a steady voice like she was trying to fight back fear that I needed to stay outside the room. I saw her face and and I won’t ever forget the little flicker of fear in her eyes.
Look, I’m a big guy. Almost six four and not hugely muscular or anything but big enough to be intimidating. I’ve learned that people, particularly women, particularly women alone in enclosed spaces with me, get anxious. I’ve learned to make myself as non-threatening as possible, to relax my posture or lean against something away from them. To keep my hands open and visible, to smile but to leave them alone and never make a move that could be interpreted as trying to cut off, say, the exit doors of the elevator or something similar. I’m not perfect at it but I try not to scare people. (And isn’t it a sad fucking commentary on the behavior of so many men that women are afraid enough of me that I need to do this?)
Anyway, I immediately stopped, stepped back, put my hands up in front of me and apologized. It wasn’t until later, when I had already left, elbow bandaged and gauzed, that I realized her fear was more than just the oh-so-common fear women have learned. She thought, maybe for a second, maybe for longer, that I was there to hurt her, and her co-workers. Maybe that I had a gun, or a bomb, or something, I don’t know.
But for a split second, that woman thought that maybe this would be the day someone came in to her place of work and destroyed her life, and the lives of people she cares about.
That split second of fear is the reason I will never support any organization like “operation rescue” or any of the others that claim through false, lying smiles to be “pro life”. Because that’s what they’re all about. Making people: doctors, nurses, receptionists, bystanders, feel fear in the service of their twisted moral crusade.
This is so important
The other point is that even though they feared for their health and safety, they treated this man. They did ask him to leave because he might do something. They treated him and probably saved some stress and pain in his life regardless of what they feared. They allowed him to get the health care he needed even though they were afraid.
How many women have been prevented from getting health care because someone else was afraid that instead of getting her yeast infection cleared up, she was getting an abortion?
Not a peep is spoken about this shit in the gun control debate.
So because I am evil and curious, what would Vader and Amidala do if they found out Obi-Wan was still alive (and doing his best to just sink into the background of the universe). Would they leave him be or hunt him down?
… relevant to that “she would sooner get a second HUSBAND” ask from earlier, probably. :X Vader’s instantly like “he is a traitor and a liar and I must re-murder him” and Padmé is instantly backed into a corner with no warning all like “WELL WHAT IF WE DIDN’T, THO??” and desperately grasping for LITERALLY ANY EXCUSE–
“You love him that much?” Vader asks, looking hurt. Or furious. Or both. Probably both, oh Force, this isn’t going to end well for Obi-Wan at ALL.
“He loved YOU that much,” Padmé says in a flash of terrible, reckless inspiration. SHE WILL TAKE ANY EXCUSE, AT THIS POINT. “Don’t you want to know how much more he’ll love you now, without the Council in the way?”
oooh I'd love to hear some headcanons about your avatar au!!
HOW COINCIDENTAL, BECAUSE I WOULD LOVE TO SHARE SOME HEADCANONS ABOUT MY AVATAR AU. For anyone who isn’t aware, these are for my Les Mis Avatar AU, things we lost in the fire, in which Grantaire is the Avatar and the Fire Nation is…well, the Fire Nation.
Joly and Bousset’s departure from the North Pole was, um…dramatic? There was a bit of a storm, which ended with a non-bender getting part of an ice structure dropped on him, and of course Joly is Joly and he healed him without thinking twice. Having been outed as a man learning healing in secret, he was given the option to turn his (not inconsiderable) talents to a more acceptable method or leave. He took the second option after Bousset settled down to a really good tirade and spent an hour haranguing the elders.
Gavroche had a group of kids in this universe too, for a little while, street rats he took care of and taught to steal and tried to get set up with enough money to be well-fed and not street rats anymore. Eponine and her brutal efficiency helped with that, once she found him again–they robbed a passing Fire Nation noble and took every scrap of gold and jewelry on him, and there was a sudden increase in the average age of the homeless in their town. They make a habit of it, and keep it under Thenardier’s radar. For a while.
Cosette’s ship is called the Rose, and no, I’m not telling you who she is, it’s a surprise. But her ship is called the Rose, and if you know the book well enough to get the reference it’ll tell you something about what kind of ship it is.
There have been three Avatars since the start of the war, since Avatar Roku died at the hands of the old Fire Lord (not that Grantaire is aware of this detail).
Roku’s immediate successor was a young monk from the Southern Air Temple, a birdlike and intelligent boy with a tight bond to his companion, a flying bison. He was told that he was the Avatar at eleven, and when the elders of the Temple suggested that they remove him from the care of his mentor, he fled into a storm.
In another universe, the Avatar state saved him, and he woke up a hundred years in the future. In this one, he drowned. It’s a tragedy, one the Air Nomads linger over, but they survive to linger. In the other universe, they do not.
The Avatar after the child who drowned was a waterbender from the South Pole. They didn’t tell her nearly so young–they had learned from the death of the Air Nomad Avatar. But they didn’t tell her nearly young enough, either, and when the Fire Navy struck, she died, sixteen and scared and fighting for her family.
In another universe, she brought back the Air Nomads. In this one, it’s not necessary. That’s almost like a victory, isn’t it?
Grantaire hasn’t spoken to any of his past lives in almost a decade, except for the occasional desperate draw on their power and skill. It’s bad enough to be a disappointment to an entire world of living people, okay, he doesn’t need to face down Roku and Kyoshi and the line of glowing eyes.
Every once in a while he wishes he could talk to them, get some advice, maybe a reassurance that he hasn’t completely fucked up, but he can’t face the possibility that they would say he has.
The Spirit World is a tense place these days, Avatar incarnations milling about and waiting for their newest member to let them through. Roku is drowning in the knowledge that he died and left this mess behind, and there are more than a few Avatars (including the Air Nomad) who just want to give Grantaire a damn hug.
Bonus sixth headcanon: Bahorel is a very bad Air Nomad and a very good airbender. It’s the pacifism thing that he can’t get past, he believes in fighting for what he believes. You may draw your conclusions accordingly.
one thing I find hilarious is when Shakespeare quotes are used out of context
like, people are always saying “some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them” as if it’s all deep and meaningful when actually it comes from a prank letter in Twelfth Night
and “This above all: to thine own self be true” comes from Polonius in Hamlet wherein the joke is that he’s an old pompous dude giving a long and rambling speech full of contradictory pointless advice to his son
“Brevity is the soul of wit” is another joke, because again, it’s made by Polonius who will just not shut up
it’s “we are such stuff as dreams are made on” not “of “, as in, “such stuff as dreams are built on”
“wherefore art thou, Romeo” doesn’t mean “where are you, Romeo” it means “why the fuck are you called Romeo, shit, I wanted to bang you but I can’t because you’re a goddamn Montague”
all these lines have acquired a kind of dignity in text that they never had in performance or are constantly misinterpreted
It’s not necessarily bad but it is kind of funny, sometimes.
I recently learned that if you sell your ebook through Barnes & Noble and sell over 1,000 copies over a 1 year period, they’ll automatically consider your book to be sold in stores and if you sell over 500 copies they’ll automatically consider you for a signing/in store book talk. I don’t know how realistic these numbers are for all of you, but it’s definitely something worth keeping in mind.
@words-writ-in-starlight I KNOW RIGHT, god, that was the best thing I ever saw this year, right up there with Ghostbusters and an entire page full of cats. ngl Trek was my gateway into science fiction in general, I think, and I loved that this one was so clearly borne out of LOVE, love for humanity’s hope to reach for the stars and push beyond the frontier and then push some more.
I’m going to cry I have so many feelings.
I am just so glad I’m not the only person who’s like EMBARRASSINGLY weepy over how amazing that movie was. Guys, guys, trust me, you want to see this movie. Whether you’re a casual space adventure fan or a devoted Star Trek lover, you want to see this movie. It’s just so much fun and so gloriously in love with itself and its universe and its characters, it’s up there as my favorite movie ever.
also guys i think it’s time to start spelling ‘small’ right again,, it’s been long enough
see the thing is, at this point, smol isn’t even a “mispelling” of small anymore; it has its own connotations. while small is a regular adjective, smol acts more like a diminutive marker, which English has been lacking
in essence, a smol dog will always be a small dog, but not all small dogs are smol.
It can go all the way down to the county level, which is kinda crazy.
31,493 people have my surname.
And I will fight them all*
so im not at all surprised that Yi is the 118th most common last name and there are more than 4 million people that share it…. tbh its really nice and i feel very connected right now
166,859, there are a lot of us.
1,236 of us worldwide. Small family.
153 people. Which is probably why no one can pronounce it.
Nearly 7,000 people in the world have my last name, the largest portion of them in Germany, which is not any kind of surprise whatsoever.
50 people with my married surname, and I bet they’re close enough relations that we could fairly easily get in touch with them all.
lmao I beat you all: 305, 217 share my surname
But there shall only be one victor. ME!
99 people and I’m probably related to most of them.
2,762 people share mine 😀
77,921 lol. Just a few of us then…
9,851. There’s actually a website out there dedicated to the family that shares my surname which is hilarious.
2310…not the most common in the world lol
152766, not surprising it occures the most in the US, there is a town in Pensylvania named after my (distant) family. And a boyscout camp in New Hampsire I think.
2,358,308
…now riddle me this, how is it that people still misspell a five-letter last name that’s THAT common?
“According to Pegg, director Justin Lin re-edited the final scene (spoiler alert) to add in a subtle tribute. “Justin went back and edited the final moment so that when Kirk says, ‘To absent friends,’ it cuts to Anton, which is really moving,” Pegg said in an interview with The Daily Beast.”—bustle.com (via maxwrite)
Fun experiment: you’ve stumbled across two billion dollars. Whatever you do with that money is up to you, but imagine you spend fifty thousand dollars per day, and you live to be a hundred years old.
You’re left with 175 million dollars.
PSA to billionaires and even millionaires: you can fucking afford to be generous. Do it for PR; do it because why not. But you can afford to be generous and help people in need and still live lavish goddam lifestyles. You’re racking up the score at this point and it needs to stop.
i don’t understand people who complain about “sj bullshit”/“political correctness gone wild” in comics?
you’re literally reading a bunch of stories about heroes who fight for the greater good of all humankind? you are reading about literal Warriors for Justice. like, complaining when wonder woman gives a speech about treating women with respect? that’s the point of her character. that’s who she is. the punching is second to the respecting women bit.
how in the hell can you go around saying “yeah, i want my violent bloody fights for justice, with a little less, you know, justice?” you want to see superman punch a nazi in the face, but you don’t want superman to be doing it to protect a jewish character because that would be ‘too preachy’?
how do you not feel like a batman villain when you complain about too much justice motivating the violence. how do you not realize you sound like the joker when you say “i want more graphic, bloody violence, but can you put less justice, compassion, and kindness in the reasoning for it?”
what exactly is that show with "Eliot"? I know him as Jacob Stone from Librarians, but all of a sudden I'm seeing this show on the librarians blog and other places but I have nO IDEA WHAT IT IS
Oh hon let me tell you a thing
It’s called leverage and it will change your life.
If you’ve seen the show Hustle it’s kind of like that but better. Which is saying something because Hustle is really good.
The premise:
A con artist, a hacker, a hitter, and a theif turn from a life of pure crime, to a life of crime for a good purpose, led by a former insurance investigator.
They target the rich and powerful that are picking on the little guy, and basically set them up due to their own greed and selfishness.
Then stand there and watch while the mark implodes on itself
The team:
Former insurance investigator, turned Mastermind and crime dad.
Is much smarter than he looks. Somhow manages to herd cats (aka his crime children) and get the job done, despite being a human dissaster.
Con artist, art theif, and crime mom.
Is the most incredible acress to grace this earth, when she’s not actually trying to act.
seriously don’t let her act on stage.
genius hacker, fountain of snark
giant adorable nerd.
Also pretty much the best dressed on the show which was refreshing, because as the huge computer nerd, that’s usually the stereotypical role of social outcast loner. Hardison has the best style and the best actual inter-personal skills and empathy of anyone on the show. Sophie can manipulate people, but hardison actually understands people. And cares about them. Biggest heart. Ray of sunshine.
parker my homegirl. Best thief in the world.
socially awkward and you never quite know what she’s going to do next. It could be eat cereal. It could be blowing up the building.
My dear eliot. The “muscle.” But also…the secret brain.
he’s much, much smarter than he looks. And everyone, including his team at times, underestimates him.
that’s code for “i love you”.
Bottom line:
Every.Single.Character has an incredible, organic character arc. And make progress that you could never see coming in season 1.
It will make you laugh. It will make you cry. A lot.
Watch it.
Stress that there is “only” five seasons, even though it finishes perfectly and wraps up better than almost any other series i’ve ever watched.
i am having a significant amount of trouble finding enough information on men’s wigs/hair care in the 18th century. a lot of the same information keeps getting repeated. here’s what i want to know:
did hamilton wear a wig or powder his hair? at the very least it doesn’t look like he’s wearing one in the ezra ames portrait, but that would’ve been when wigs had pretty much gone out of style. i mean, after studying a bunch of portraits i’m under the impression that it’s his natural (fairly curly) hair, but i really don’t know.
if someone powdered their hair, how often did they do so and how often did they remove the powder? i know it was messy and greasy, it seems difficult to sleep in.
if a man wore a wig, did he always shave his real hair?
did men sleep with their hair in a queue? did they use some kind of hair net to keep their pillows clean?
honestly, if you know the answer to any of these questions (or if you just have some thoughts to add) hmu. i swear there’s a reason i’m asking, though it’s not a very good reason.
Hamilton powdered his hair. His son James remembered that his father had basically a daily hairdresser who powdered, pomatumed, combed, platted, and clubbed his hair back in a queue. That kind of hair styling had the potential to take a couple of hours. It was generally believed at this time that the hair powder is what kept the hair clean.
I can’t find info on how often they removed the powder, but to keep their pillows clean when their hair was powdered, they wore night caps,
*cracks knuckles* Finally, my time has come! *uses interest in 18th Century fashion and grooming for good and not for evil*
A typical hair care and styling regimen for women, and fashionable men who did not wear wigs, in the 18th century was:
1. Take down your hairdo at the end of the day, massage a small amount of pomatum, a mixture of mutton fat, lard, and aromatic oils such as clove and lemon, into the hair and scalp, add powder, and brush vigorously for quite some time. The effect is similar to contemporary dry shampoos. Although very rarely, if ever, washed with water and soap, this routine effectively cleans the hair and scalp without stripping natural oils and leaving it full of texture and body and enough oils to make styling easier– squeaky clean, freshly shampooed hair is notoriously hard to style, especially in elaborate updos and curls. Men and women alike wore nightcaps to protect their bedding from any powder or pomatum that might be left and probably also to help prevent long hair from getting too messed up. Unlike women, men might not undo their hair every night, and would wear hairnets to help preserve their style overnight.
2. In the morning, more powder was added before brushing. Powder was made of finely ground starch, bones, and clay, along with aromatic powders such as orris root. Women who wished to achieve towering ‘dos rolled sections of their hair over fluffy pads and added curls with curling irons. Men usually did not have the towering hairdos, but definitely would have added curls with a curling iron, if they had the luxury of a hairdresser (I read that Hamilton had a hairdresser come to his house every day, so he may have added curls sometimes). If a lighter white color was desired, the hairdresser would apply more powder to the finished style with a large puff while their client covered their face with a cone-shaped piece of paper so it didn’t also get powdered.
3. Wigs. Contrary to popular belief, women achieved many of their towering hairstyles without wigs. Most women wore their own, natural hair with, perhaps, extensions to bulk it out a bit if necessary. However, most of the popular, everyday styles could be achieved simply with waist-length hair, pads, and curls. Men, on the other hand, routinely wore wigs. Covering baldness was a big part of wigs’ popularity among men, but also, the time involved in styling hair may have interfered with men who had business, politics, and other important matters to attend to. Wigs could be sent off to a professional for regular maintenance and simply plopped on the head in the morning, like a hat. Men who wore wigs usually kept their natural hair cut very short, or even shaved, as in this picture from Hogarth’s “A Rake’s Progress”, where the main character has let his wig fall to the floor:
And this handsome gentleman, lounging at home in informal leisure wear– a banyan and nightcap:
Because wigs were expensive, they marked social class, with the most elaborate styles that required the most upkeep for the wealthy and the fops, and simpler styles that varied according to occupation and income.
By the late 1700s, however, wigs were already on their way out. Men of all social classes preferred styles that were fairly simple, and by the 1780s, natural, lightly powdered hair was preferred. In most of the portraits of the Founding Fathers and others who fought in the American Revolution, for example, you see that they are wearing their natural hair, not wigs.
Hamilton, ca. 1780– this is his own hair (I’m assuming, because the hairline is consistent with other portraits and he was probably too poor to even own a wig at this point), but it has been styled to look very much like the popular wig styles of the 1770s-early 80s: brushed back from the forehead, rolled over a pad or simply bulked up with enough pomatum and powder to make a nice roll near the ears, and tied in either a queue or bag in the back:
Which is, incidentally, how George Washington wore his hair, and since Hamilton was his Aide de Camp at the time this portrait was painted, it’s not surprising he wears the same style as his commander.
By 1800, he was wearing his hair like this:
It looks to me like the sides have been curled or rolled vertically to frame his face, while the back is combed flat and tied in a low queue.
This is another view of the same general style. You see the lightly powdered hair brushed up and fluffed a bit with the help of pomatum and powder for volume and hold over his head and around his face. You can see that by the late 1700s-early 1800s, men’s hair was fairly natural-looking, and required a minimal amount of styling and maintenance.
In England, in the 1790s only older men and women being presented at court wore wigs, and in 1795, the British government levied a tax on hair powder that basically ended powdered hair and fashions that relied upon it. However, powdered hair was already mostly over in the US, France and with political progressives in England because of the revolutions: elaborate, powdered hairstyles were associated with aristocracy.
things that still freak me out: those sinks americans have in their kitchens that you can destroy stuff with
Honestly this post has been on my mind all day. Those weird destructosinks for people with too much money are apparently common in America. And Americans get defensive over them.
Well don’t come crying to me when your wean gets eaten by the fucking kitchen sink.
hOLY SHIT WHAT IF U TRY AND CLEAN THE PLUG AND TURN IT ON IM SO SCARED
Okay it took me for-fucking-ever to figure out wtf you guys are talking about are you talking about garbage disposals? Like down the drain??
with the spinny knives
No knives, just a dull piece of spinny metal.
you realise it takes the same amount of force to cut thru a carrot as a finger
i dont know what you do over there but we usually don’t stick our hands in our sink drains
who’s going around fisting sinks anyway
“don’t come crying to me when your wean gets eaten by the fucking kitchen sink”
is that person saying they fuck kitchen sinks? is that what I just read? they put their dick in the sink’s drain and they fuck it?
dont sinkshame
Child. Wean means child.
Okay, so you put your CHILD in a sink and stuff them down the drain? That’s… that’s definitely worse.
This post is an experiance.
Wait, other developed countries don’t have garbage disposals??? The only time I didn’t have a garbage disposal was in a crappy cheap apartment in college. Scraping food off plates into the trash, then the trash smells… ughhh.
I will reblog every garbage disposal post to cross my dash because the culture clash is hilarious
Putting your hand in there to get something out that can’t go down the sink is a Final Destination moment every time and it’s fucking horrifying.
